


Mine Waits for Me

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Morning Routines, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Hubert’s first morning of marriage is both stranger and less eventful than expected.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 240





	Mine Waits for Me

Sunlight assaults Hubert. He throws an arm over his eyes while he gropes for the dagger beneath his pillow. How did he sleep past dawn? He should already be working, he should draw the curtains against spies, he should…

Lowering his arm, he catches the glint of the ring adorning his left hand. Gold and silver, ruby and onyx, the intertwined bands binding the two jewels together. He finds its match by the window, where Ferdinand stands before the open curtains, beaming down at him. Hubert has the urge to throw a pillow.

(He could. An extra pillow sits beside his, no longer extraneous on most nights.)

“Good morning,” Ferdinand says, too soft for the harsh light framing him. Hubert waves a hand toward the curtains.

“Close them.”

“You must banish drowsiness at the start of your day. Or have I caught the Emperor’s spymaster unalert?”

Hubert stifles a groan as he rises. There go his cherished moments of hazy, timeless morning.

Considering how much time they spent together before, he didn’t anticipate marriage changing his routine. Already he had to babyproof his chambers so Ferdinand wouldn’t lose a hand or a bit of his soul, though Ferdinand has taken care with the cabinets regardless.

Paltry sacrifices compared to Hubert’s gains. The window gilds Ferdinand’s damp curls, casting the rest of him in shadow: his rumpled robe, his rimmed eyes, and the scar crossing the angle of his jaw. Hubert commits it to memory like a code word guarding a vault. Not even the imperial servants see Ferdinand like this; he puts himself together every morning, necessitating his early start.

His hands find Hubert's chest, and Hubert pulls him into the curtain’s shadow, away from prying eyes. Edelgard all but ordered Hubert to take the day off. He settled for part of the morning, just for this—the chance to fit his palm behind Ferdinand’s bare neck, his other hand at his back, folding together all their mismatched pieces.

 _Husband_ , Ferdinand whispers against his lips. Hubert forces himself to pull back, then forces himself to stay.

“We should not delay further,” Hubert says, dropping his arms. 

Nothing hides Ferdinand’s disappointment. With a pang, Hubert anticipates disappointing him again and again.

The mood lifts as they prepare for their day. Hubert takes care of Ferdinand’s mask, curling a hand under his chin to admire his scars and eye bags before brushing makeup over them. He could never be with someone flawless, even if any future harm to befall Ferdinand will mark Hubert’s failure.

Once Ferdinand wears the face of a prime minister, he plucks his own eyebrows while humming a lilting opera song. He doesn’t seem aware of it. Hubert will never tell him, if it might make him stop. 

He can’t help interrupting to pull Ferdinand’s shirt over his shoulders, button the front, and arrange his collar. Though Ferdinand’s eyes say _I can do it myself_ , he indulges Hubert the one thing that can settle his heart. It used to mean brushing Edelgard’s hair while she gave him that same look in the mirror. Its sheen hasn’t suffered without his attention, something obvious that nevertheless twisted him upon first notice. Still, it frees him to tie Ferdinand’s cravat, bare fingers brushing his neck and chin as they all but share breath. 

“We must protect you better against assassins,” Hubert mutters. “A dagger in your boot is not enough. Perhaps one in your sleeve, and wards against magic stitched into your gloves.” 

The latter is more necessary than ever; their rings make his enemies Ferdinand’s enemies. _History’s worst dowry_.

Ferdinand lifts Hubert’s hands from his clothes. “We have not even had our morning coffee.”

Hubert planned to make tea, but his routine has enough deviations. “Yes, assassins always wait for their marks to finish breakfast.”

“Mine waits for me.” Ferdinand squeezes his hands, expression adoring, and Hubert allows it. 

He would poke at how slowly Ferdinand eats, between his need for constant speech and his actual enjoyment of food—but Hubert has no room to talk, as these days he often finds his plate full of his favorite dishes, and his table occupied by favorable company. Ferdinand is as likely to arrange for meat pie as he is to bribe Bernadetta with dessert.

Not that Hubert knows what to do with any of this. “Since when do you have morning coffee?” he asks instead.

“Did you not expect Ferdinand von Vestra to study the best brewing techniques, let alone to avoid wasting the results?”

“You must have been vibrating out of your seat.” Even as his lips curl at the image, something reverberates within him. He hadn’t thought it possible for someone to announce their name more than Ferdinand used to. The habit ended with the Aegir line, as time wore at his self-importance, but his pride these days is different, a steady glow that lights everything Hubert tries to keep dark.

He blots it back out after breakfast, when they leave his— _their_ chambers, knowing how many people will leap on evidence that marriage has weakened Hubert. He shall be twice as ruthless to compensate. Not that there’s room for concern, with his husband as sharp as he is unyielding, as dexterous as he is strong. No, the fools have no idea what they’re getting into.

He’ll just have to get used to starting his day with the sun.


End file.
